


The Most Interesting One

by prettyvk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Mage!Sherlock, demon!John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2014-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:19:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyvk/pseuds/prettyvk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock summons a demon... or does he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Asked for prompts. whodidwut said: _YAY prompts! Can I have a bit of demon!john/mage!sherlock please? Pretty please!_
> 
> Never read/wrote anything like this. Is mage!sherlock an actual AU out there? Anyway, here's my take on it.

Sherlock runs the silver blade along the palm of his hand. Pain registers, though he doesn’t flinch or wince, his entire mind on the spell he’s still reciting. He makes a fist and extends his arm, letting blood drip inside the circle of chalk, beyond the ashes that form a seven-point star. Seven drops. Seven more words filled with power. At the moment he falls silent and takes a step back, a flash of light as brightly red as his blood floods the room, momentarily robbing him of his vision. He blinks a few times, and a form slowly appears in front of him, trapped within the confines of the circle and star.

It looks human, but Sherlock knows better than to trust his eyes in this one instance. Still, he observes the demon he just summoned into his home. It’s not very frightening. It’s a few inches shorter than Sherlock himself, with blondish hair streaked with gray. For some unfathomable reason, it’s wearing a pair of jeans and a knitted jumper. It’s looking at Sherlock with the most perplexed expression. The strangest thing of all, though, is that its eyes are blue.

Why are they blue?

“Uh… Hello?” the demon says with a light frown. “I’m sorry but… how did I get here?”

Sherlock returns the frown. That’s not how it usually goes. Usually the demons rage and shout and threaten him, and he lets them do all that until they realize they’re trapped, at his mercy, and they might as well give him the information he wants. They’ve never looked at him like this, confused and disoriented.

“I summoned you,” Sherlock says, each word crisp, each syllable bursting with the certainty that he is in charge, in control, and the sooner the demon accepts that and cooperates, the easier it will be for everyone.

“Summoned me?” the demon repeats. “O… kay? So you’re… a mage? I’m sorry, I don’t know much about magic. Never had the talent myself. Just… why exactly did you summon me?”

That’s still pretty far from par for this course. What’s the demon playing at?

“I need information about the Nether Realm. What would dog bones—”

“Wait.”

The demon raises its hands, both palms out toward Sherlock, and if not for the protection circle Sherlock would draw up a shield right about now. He’s tempted to do it anyway; this demon just isn’t like other demons.

“Wait,” it says again, although Sherlock has fallen silent. “I just… I don’t understand. The Nether Realm? That’s… that’s the place where demons come from, isn’t it? Why would you ask me? Bloody hell, why would you summon me? I’m just a doctor. I can help with that—” It points at Sherlock’s hand, and Sherlock looks down and realizes it’s still bleeding faintly. “—but demon-y, realm-y stuff? You’ve got the wrong guy.”

It tries to step forward, then — tries to step out of the star. Energy flashes through the air, holding it back. It flinches backward, and even makes a small sound of surprise.

Genuine surprise?

Sherlock’s frown deepens and he slowly steps toward his desk, his gaze taking in the demon once more from the ground up. It’s wearing shoes. He’s never seen a demon with shoes before. They look sturdy, well broken in, a little scuffed. His jeans have the same look of quality but age; the hems aren’t frayed in the slightest but the denim is faded in characteristic lines at the knees and by the right pocket; it bulges with a square-ish object. Wallet. Since when do demons carry wallets? Since when do they wear knitted jumpers with hideous black and red patterns? Since when do they stare out through blue eyes and pretend to be anything other than powerful – deadly – creatures?

Sherlock reaches his desk and lays a finger on the thick book open there. He doesn’t actually read the word he pronounces; instead, from the corner of his eye, he observes the demon’s reaction.

“Les’hicsh’aam.”

The demon does not react in any way. Odd. Sherlock faces it, crossing his arms.

“As you can see, I know your True Name. That is how I summoned you. That is also how I’ll destroy you if you don’t quit playing this game and start answering my questions.”

The demon’s eyes widen, grow large and round – and even bluer if that’s even possible.

“Lesikwhat, now? That’s a name? It’s not my name. My name is John Watson. Doctor John Watson. And you are seriously starting to freak me out. Let me out of here.” It reaches forward again, and energy flares up through the star again. “You’ve got no right…” It starts panting. “You can’t just…” Its face flushes red, sweat pearling at its temples. “I’m a human being, damn it! You messed up your spell or whatever it is you did. Let me go!”

It’s breathing hard, now.

It’s panicking.

Or maybe… he’s panicking?

Did Sherlock truly make a mistake? He’s cast this spell a dozen times. It always worked without a hitch. Did he do anything different, today? He lowers his eyelids to slits – he doesn’t want to close his eyes with a demon – is it a demon? – in the room, and reviews his actions from the past half hour or so. He traced the circle with the same chalk he always uses, in the same spot in the middle of his study, and imbued it with magic. The star next, with ashes from an ash tree, and…

Wait. The ashes. Was their texture different from what it usually is? He had to replenish his supply. His usual store closed recently, so he went to a new place. What if they mixed up his order, somehow? A different type of tree would make for very different results. Would it summon a random human to the circle rather than the demon he was calling on?

He reaches for the plastic bag on his desk, dips two fingers in the ash, rubs his thumb against them, then brings them to his lips and flicks his tongue out for a taste. Coarser than he’s used to; the smell and taste are close, very close, too close for him to be sure. Inconclusive.

He turns to… the demon? The man? There’s only one way to tell, isn’t there?

“Let me out,” John Watson – or Les’hicsh’aam – says again. “Please. I’m not who… what you think I am. I swear.”

Sherlock draws again the knife from the sheath at his belt. The cut in his palm is barely closed; he reopens it easily. With the knife, he motions for the being in the circle to move back, and when it – he – does, Sherlock crouches down and smears his blood across the lines of the circle and star, murmuring a single word, breaking both spells. The thrum of magic that fills the room diminishes a little, and Sherlock stands warily, still clutching the knife.

“Oh, God, thank you,” John Watson says, a tense smile breaking his face as he steps forward. “This is all so… Weird.”

Sherlock takes a step back and sheathes the knife. Did he really make that big a mistake? He never makes mistakes. His spellwork is impeccable. Has always been.

And yet, there stands the proof of his fallibility. Maybe.

“My apologies,” he says, annoyed with himself. “Please believe I mean you no harm. I’m not quite sure what happened.”

He’ll figure it out, though. Test the ashes; recheck every line, every word of the spell. Figure it all out. That’s what he does, after all.

“It’s okay.” A nervous laugh, and John Watson steps closer again. “No harm done, I’m just kinda spooked. I don’t suppose I could have some tea? Settle my nerves a bit? Where are we anyway? Is this London?”

“It is,” Sherlock says curtly.

Tea? He made some earlier, but it must have grown cold by now. He doesn’t want to have tea with this stranger. He wants to work on this problem until he understands what happened. Damn it. There’s no way out of it, is there? When it comes down to it, he kidnapped a human, and if John Watson complains to the authorities even Mycroft won’t be able to get Sherlock out of this.

“This way,” he says, swallowing a sigh as he turns to the door. One cup, and he’ll put his unexpected guest in a cab before getting back to his work.

He hasn’t reached the doorway yet when John - Les’hicsh’aam – makes its move. It lunges at Sherlock from behind, sending him crashing to the ground. It’s not entirely unexpected, and Sherlock manages to roll as he falls, turning up to face the demon, his hand already reaching for the knife.

The demon is faster. It takes the knife, straddles Sherlock’s body, presses the blade to Sherlock’s neck. Its eyes are two pools of black ink.

“You fool,” it says in that same quiet voice John Watson used, though it’s not shaking anymore. “I’ve killed men and demons for offenses much lighter than daring to summon me. And all that for what? A question about dog bones? Mages are such idiots.”

Sherlock swallows, and the blade nicks his skin. He keeps his eyes directly on the demon as he calmly says, “If you kill me, you’ll never get out of here.”

The demon frowns, then looks around. It doesn’t take long before it notices the second circle and star; they encompass the entire room – and they can only be broken by the caster’s blood, when he stands outside the circle.

A wry smile curls the demon’s lips. It pulls the blade back, then stands, stepping back to allow Sherlock to do the same. Flipping the knife in its hand, it presents it, hilt first, to Sherlock.

“Well played,” it says with just a touch of grudging admiration. Its eyes are blue again. “Very well played. Why don’t you get me that cuppa, then, and get it over with? I’ve got to go back to the surgery before they notice I’m gone.”

Sherlock blinks; he couldn’t say what surprises him the most: the fact that the demon gave him back the knife, or that it’s apparently ready to play along, or even—

“Surgery?” he blurts out. “You can’t mean—”

“I told you I’m a doctor, didn’t I? So, that cup of tea?”

Barely aware of what he’s doing, Sherlock retreats to the kitchen. The water is boiling before he’s done finding a tray and his good china. The biscuits are stale, and he’s surprised at how much it annoys him. He stops for a second, looking back toward the study, where John Watson or Les’hicsh’aam, whatever it – he – wants to be called, sat down in an armchair and is waiting patiently. This has got to be the strangest demon Sherlock ever met.

He picks up the tray and joins him.

The most interesting one, too.


	2. a note about this fic

I’ve been meaning to add chapters to this fic forever but can’t seem to get around to it. I’ve also been meaning to practice doing more god-awful comics so that i might possibly in the long term get better at it. Two birds, one stone. The first few pages [**here**](http://prettyvk.tumblr.com/tagged/The-Most-Interesting-One/chrono) will retell what was posted on AO3 but eventually we'll get to new material. I hope you'll enjoy if you give it a try.

ETA - I've been asked to post it here too for people who don't do tumblr. I'll post on this page. It won't show as 'updated' but it'll show as 'minor changes'.

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tbc


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